


Until The End, We Live To Serve

by Zotos



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Caning, Fluff and Angst, I don't know how this got this far, Light BDSM, M/M, Regis is a dork, Restraints, Riding, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-26
Updated: 2017-01-26
Packaged: 2018-09-20 01:13:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,963
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9468827
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Zotos/pseuds/Zotos
Summary: From the Kmeme:Being King is stressful, sometimes Regis just likes to have that control taken away from him and Clarus is more than happy to help after seeing how worked up Regis is.Bonus points+Regis tries to top from the bottom and gets shut down completely nuh uh nope not in charge here.+doesn't have to be an established relationship could just be fwb





	

**Author's Note:**

> ¯_༼ ಥ ‿ ಥ ༽_/¯

The duties of a king are strenuous. They act as trials on ones’ body, mind, and spirit. Sometimes a weaker ruler must bow to demand or lose themselves to their own dedications. 

When Regis worked himself up from the trials of ruling a kingdom, he seldom took care of himself. Sometimes it was the wall. Other times it was a plethora of incompetence draining on his sanity. It could even be the demands of his child that thrust him to the breaking point where his collected self would crack. 

That is not to say Regis was not loving. Quite the opposite, in fact. He loved so wholly that the crystal-- with all of its infinite power could make him distance himself from his child, to be offered up as a sacrificial lamb. It weighed heavier on Regis than any other burden possibly could.

While the power of kings was only entrusted to the man on the throne, the power over kings was entrust to their shield. Even the early rulers of Solheim saw the incredible need that beget their rulers, and early on a system was placed to ensure potential of those chosen by the crystal would not waver. 

From as far back as any could remember, the Amicitia family swore the oath binding themselves to their rulers. A heavy burden, for those who knew the true cost. While the king wore the crown of scars like a circlet of thorns on their brow, the Amicitias’ bore the pain of suffrage. No king lived long. No shield desired to live without their king.

One would think of it as a burden, but the Amicitia never had. They bore their wings with pride. When the king extended their hand at the cost of their own life, their shield picked up the pieces with pleasure. Sometimes, it was this that caused Lucian kings to draw themselves to their shield. A matter of trust where little could be found as the days grew shorter and the nights longer.

It was only a matter of time before this arrangement also crossed over into a sexual one. Not for just Regis, but many before him. A stress relief and a passing of the baton as it were. The kings shield was not only his protector. He was a guide. Someone to not only pick up the broken pieces of the Lucian king, but to piece them back together with glue that kept the Lucian people strong. 

In body and mind, Clarus was built to serve Regis’ every need. It would of course be a complete lie to state that he resented his position. The complete opposite in fact. To compensate for Regis’ thirst for danger, Clarus became strong in body. Corded muscle across a broad frame, emulating the wall itself in a magnificent physical form.

As the king of Lucis grew into the political power thrust upon him, his shield dedicated himself to becoming strong in mind. Long nights after meetings, they danced a waltz of logic and wit. Sometimes it was a game of leading the other around, others it was pleasant conversation.

It was said the bond between sword and shield created one of the strongest bonds imaginable, as the push and pull like the tide of the great oceans crafted an unshakable pair. They were as good as married. The true burden of the arrangement was allowing Regis leave to start a family. Clarus’ love for his kingdom was deep, but jealousy festered at the edges. He was only a man, after all.

A particularly harrowing meeting left Regis grasping the arms of his throne with whitened knuckles. The furrow of his brow and dab of perspiration at his brow left no question as to the kings’ mood. While loving he may be, Regis could also be known for a foul temper that could lead Leviathan herself to ruin if challenged. 

Clarus made the mistake of getting in the way. 

“Perhaps we should adjourn for today?” 

Piercing eyes focused on Clarus from across the room. He was not intimidated. At least, not as much as he should have been. Perhaps he had been neglecting his duties after-all to receive such a response.

A pin could be dropped and heard from the throne room to Nifelheim. Clarus rarely spoke out of turn. The rest of the crowns advisers knew their place. 

“If the king wishes it, of course?” He added on with a hint of apology. 

There was a long silence where advisers and guests from Galahad waited patiently. Regis regarded everyone before him carefully as the light from windows gave away his frustration by the  crease of his brow. The subtle lines of age from his eyes worried his face deeply. 

“Very well. Tomorrow then, same time.”

The council stood systematically, guards ushering the representatives of Galahd from the room silently. It was a time of mourning, for all who understood the precarious situation also knew what must be done. The decision had not been made public yet, but Regis’ heart broke with each passing day that his people were strung along in a pointless war. 

Clarus knew this. He knew his king was suffering. All of Lucis and their kingdom suffered. The rioters in the streets broke them all more and more with each passing news article, each cry for help that could not be seen to. Regis was a mess over it all. If Clarus could whisk him away to a private reprieve where they could be lovers and not thrust harshly into their roles-- ah, it did no good to dream.

The king stood with a lingering glare in his shields direction. Clarus was almost too lost in thought to pay it much mind. As the scuffles of a crowd dispersing died down into the empty echoes of a marble throne room, Regis made his displeasure known.

“You can not protect them. I can not protect them. The verdict will be made tomorrow. And all we can do is pray to the gods that they are left mostly in-tact as a people.” Regis was hardly old enough to show the lines of age that dotted his brow and eyes. Years of that damnable ring etching lines and scars into his skin reminded Clarus of the very real oath he had made. 

Lucian Kings did not live long.

It was that reminder that kept Clarus strong. It was his duty to draw the line between himself and the king. To speak out in Lucis was not an offense. It was one of their governing prospects of freedom. 

“You should cease this madness before you invade Nifelheim yourself. You are drawing out the inevitable and for once, Regis, you are not realizing how close to death's door you place yourself.” He had barely picked himself up from his council seat before he heard the king pick up his cane, leaving quickly through a side-door as if he had been a child berated by his father. 

If only Mors had ever been so overbearing.

A few minutes passed where Clarus reached up to the bridge of his nose, clasping his hands before his face with a tight exhale that had been held during the council. It was almost painful. He knew what he had to do. If Regis continued along this path it could spell damnation for him. 

Perhaps they were both far too high-strung for this. 

It was about an hour later when Clarus caught up to Regis. The king stood as regally as a man with the weight of the world on his shoulders could, staring blankly through a window overseeing Insomnia.

Clarus was large enough to be heard coming from miles away. He made himself known through heavy foot-falls that rang through the marbled hall from the heels his uniform required. For a moment he simply stood by his kings side, imagining all was fine as they quietly overlooked Insomnia together as if it were another simple day, where the weight of the crown didn’t burn into flesh and take his loves’ life before his eyes.

The silence was finally broken by Regis’ voice. Low and gravely as if the burden he bore were physical. “You know I must become a daemon to the people of Galahd and surrender their home for the sake of the many. I cannot walk into Nifelheim and demand their safety.” 

Regis walked. Away from Clarus. That was more painful than seeing his king destroy himself over this decision. Perhaps that’s why his hair had begun to recede. Chasing Regis down every time something terrible happened was wearing more on him than he cared to admit.

Clarus had clasped his hands behind his back with a slight press of his thinning lips together. “We will speak of this later, Regis. You cannot take upon yourself the woes of the world alone.”  He stood still, facing the retreating mans’ back where his companion could not see the worry laced with affection that spread across his expression.

The horrors of night were not something the Insomnian people worried about. To them, in their haven they remained safe until the sun crested over the horizon each day. It was not for them to worry about the same things Regis had to. That was enough to see Regis to his rooms and awake after nightfall. The king stared blankly at a map of his kingdom that shrunk by the day, pondering to himself how his father and the father before him dealt with such a burden.

Their bedroom door opened with a quiet squeak, Clarus having left Regis to his brooding long enough. When greeted with the sight of the king lost and strained, he couldn’t help but wonder if he had made the correct decision leaving him by his lonesome. A few more minutes wouldn’t kill him. 

Regis was drawn from his musing at the sounds his shield made as he drew his cloak off his shoulders. Meticulous as always as he peeled layer after layer off and hung them in their correct places. It was a good distraction to have as the winged tattoos all Amicitia bore came into view on Clarus’ arms, the finished piece hidden by a tight gray shirt that served the purpose of preventing the overbearing armor bits from scraping skin. 

It was a very long ten minutes before Clarus had finished, his hands folded behind his back as he faced his king with a hardened expression that left Regis remembering his earlier years, when they began their sordid relationship under the pretense of needing release from stress. It wasn’t so out-of-the-ordinary from what Regis had gleaned from royal archives. 

It had been a while since he regarded his shield in such a way. It reminded him of why he was hopelessly head over heels for him in the first place. The days events came rushing back with a twinge of guilt. He could only hope his son didn’t grow up as temperamental as he tended to be.

Clarus didn’t mind the staring. At least Regis still had the look he wore years ago in regards to his shield. Typically he would bask in it, but there were other matters to attend to. 

“Turn around, lean forward against the bed. You need to be reminded that I’m here to serve you for your own well-being.” He stated firmly. Clarus didn’t typically make such demands, but lately his king had done nothing more than fight him.

It didn’t seem as if that was stopping anytime soon either.

Regis stood his ground with a gently arched brow, leaning forward against his cane with no sign of following instruction. “Clarus--”

“Do as I say.” That was warning two. 

“There are too many things to be done tonight, Clarus. We have an extensive amount of planning before drawing back the wall.”

That was the wrong answer. The much larger man had no trouble taking three steps across the room from the entryway to the office-space the king had absolutely insisted on in his room. Their room. It drove him mad.

Clarus plucked Regis’ cane from his fingers with ease. Though he had just begun using it recently, it served as more than a prop. Clarus knew eventually Regis would need a brace and these encounters would have to be slowed or carefully planned, but for now he could simply wash Regis away in the waves of pleasure to piece him back together.

From the look that crossed the kings’ face as he watched his precious cane plucked from his slightly shaking fingers, he wanted. By the six did he want. His temper on the other hand was not going to allow him to simply lie back and enjoy though. It never typically did. 

Regis was pushed forward across the soft duvet of their bed, fingers grasping at the material as the man fought to turn himself around to regain the upper hand in this encounter. Clarus’ response was to place a hand in the center of his back, holding him down. 

“If you can muster the energy to fight, you can surely find the ability to count.”

There was barely enough time between Clarus’ words and the cessation of his struggling before Regis felt it. The hard wood of his new cane breaking down against the back of his clothed thighs. By the gods did it hurt. His vision went white for a moment as his brain struggled with the reaction that he had just been caned as if he were some imputent child. It had him pulling himself up to make a retreat, but Clarus was as strong as he was large, and the hand he had rested on Regis’ back instead found a suitable hold on the back of his neck, strands of hair trapped between fingers  tugging his head back slightly as Regis struggled. 

Of course that’s what Clarus would do. Regis adored his hair being played with, the calloused hand of his shield never failing to drive him absolutely mad with desire with the proper attention.

“Count, Regis.”

He was able to turn his head to the side so that his face wasn’t completely crammed into the soft duvet, inhaling sharply as he fully caught up with the situation he was in. Yes, he was still angry, and he would eventually fight back.. but for now..

“One.” was hissed between clenched teeth. 

Clarus gently drew his fingers down the line of Regis’ neck to his shoulder blades. He was unable to stop the full-body shudder ripping through him from head to toe, just in time for the cane to strike him a second time. This time it didn’t hurt as much as it should have. Instead the white-out of adrenaline fueled rage and tension melted into a sharp inhale of arousal as he called out the number.

By strike five, Clarus had pulled Regis’ pants down and kicked them away, his kings legs splayed wide as the walking instrument was drug up the inside of Regis’ slim thigh, close enough to his aching arousal to cause him to gasp. 

“You’re behaving so well, love. How many more to get the point across?”

Before he could even compose himself enough to answer, the cane struck the inside of his thigh, dangerously close to his twitching dick. The only response he had to that was to bite down into the blanket he had a white-knuckled grasp on and shift his hips forward in a pathetic attempt to create some sort of friction. A light swat from the cane against one of the freshly blossoming bruises reminded him what this was about. 

“S-six.”

Clarus drew his fingers from his kings neck with an affectionate pat to Regis’ head. He wasn’t unaffected at all. The sight before him was a treat that was far too rare in these times, Regis sprawled over their bed and lightly rocking his hips into the side of the bed. Perspiration dotted his brow and the back of his neck was soaked from the effort put forward to not simply turn around, push Clarus back, and ride him until it was his shield begging. “Very good.” 

A soft “N-no more.” was partially sobbed into the bedsheets. The response to that was of-course, Clarus’ gravelly laugh as he pushed on to fully show his king that he was not playing a game after the discourse earlier in the day.

By the fifteenth time hard-wood met bruised skin, Regis had lost the ability to count. His neck craned and back arched sharply as balls drew up tight to his body, a soundless scream on parted lips as Clarus held him tightly around his spasming cock to prevent him from reaching his peak.

It was almost enough to make him white out with frustration. There were tears plastered to his long lashes, cheeks reddened with arousal and pain in the most perfect of mixtures. His hips pressed back, and all he could do was hope his shield would be merciful for once.

“Please.. It’s too much.” 

Clarus drew the cane up the back of Regis’ leg, shamelessly pressing his own aching arousal against the kings back as he tenderly drew sweaty strands of hair away from Regis’ face. By the gods he was beautiful like this.

“If you can still form coherent sentences it’s not even close to enough.”

The only response Clarus received was an almost out-of-place growl from his king. The man was hanging on to his sanity by a thread and Clarus could feel the tension building from where he laid against the much smaller mans back. This was exactly what he was waiting for, knowing how needy Regis could be when frustrated past his breaking point. 

Sometimes it was difficult to remember that the king of Lucis was not easily manhandled. He was so small in stature that even Clarus forgot sometimes just how strong and quick he could be. After stopping the man from finishing, it shouldn’t have been as much of a surprise as it was when the tell-tale blue energy of a warp left Clarus flat against the bed while Regis grabbed him from behind to flip him over. 

He was an absolute mess. Red from head to toe. Clarus was suddenly grateful he had the forethought to strip him fully around the tenth lash with the cane. The sight before him could rival the Disc of Cauthess, the splendor of Insomnia. Its’s king was truly the gem of Insomnia. 

Regis was breathing heavily, thighs trembling as he straddled his shield, grinding himself against Clarus’ clothed erection. It was bliss and the worst torture possible. “If you will not finish this.. I will.” 

This renewed struggle was expected, but Regis was far too composed for Clarus’ liking. After those lashes he should have been a mess and hardly able to move. That wouldn't do. 

Fortunately years of hard work, aided in bed as well. Clarus easily flipped their positions, tearing off his shirt in the process and tying the kings’ hands behind his back with the soft fabric. The response was a frustrated groan, but it gave Clarus the necessary time to fetch lubrication from his desk at least, the only useful reason for that damnable furniture to be in there to begin with.

This was the easy part. As soon as he removed the cap and dribbled a few drops onto his fingers along with Regis’ reddened hole the fight died down. Clarus was about as needy as Regis at this point, wanting nothing more than to take him dry, work him over until the sun crested over the horizon and have his king shouting his name to the Six. Another time, maybe.

Clarus made quick work of the man beneath him, teasing him until he felt the muscle beneath his fingers relax and slipping one digit inside. Regis gasped, Clarus provided more. It was a push and pull like the oceans’ currents until neither of them could stand it anymore. He leaned down to gently nip at Regis’ bottom lip as a third finger worked its way inside. He wasn’t small. He would definitely need more. At this point it was more of a battle of will to determine if he could last long enough to properly prepare him.

“Cla-rus.” Was the weak response as Regis leaned up to press his lips fully to his shields’. 

Just as dedicated to servicing his king as he was in every other waking moment, Clarus obliged. He flipped their position again, pulling them both back towards the headboard where he could fully sit up and appreciate the sight his lover made above him. Regis was eager enough, widely spreading his thighs and frustratedly grinding back against Clarus’ somehow still clothed cock. 

“You’re so needy.” Was whispered against Regis’ neck, the king quickly tilting his head back as his lust-glazed eyes stared at the ceiling. Such an invitation couldn’t be ignored, and Clarus grazed his teeth into the trailing scar from that damned ring, reclaiming his ownership over the man he loved and damning the crystal for every mark on the mans’s body. 

It’s at least enough to distract Regis while he shuffles his pants off, hissing as the cool air finally reached his cock. Regis’ bound hands reached down, smearing pre-come around the inflamed head as the king lined himself up, ramming himself back down to take Clarus fully. 

They both saw stars. The light of the gods was not as bright. It was almost too much already and they had just gotten started. Clarus grasped Regis’ hips as his own jolted up.

“Ride me” Clarus groaned against his lovers’ neck. Regis was trembling, tight, breathing in sharp gasps of air. The pain of being stretched wide after fifteen lashes must have been excruciating, yet Regis still wanted as wholly as he loved. 

With trembling thighs, Regis picked himself up and dropped back down as best he could with his hands restrained behind his back. This was about control, about having it stripped away piece by piece and having to earn it back. Clarus was encouraging, rolling his hips up to press flush against Regis’ ass. The pace was just as forgiving as it was torturous. 

Regis loved it.

Clarus knew it.

They rocked together until neither could take the pace anymore. Regis’ sobs muffled by Clarus’ mouth as they kissed as if it would be their last time together. Clarus was close. He could feel Regis strain against him, his thighs trembling and his breath in harsh gasps. Clarus grasped the mans’ purpling erection, stroking him in time with his long thrusts. 

“With me, love.” 

It was all that had to be said. Regis arched back with an anguished sob as Clarus held him in place, fucking him through the hardest orgasm he had experienced in years. Months of anger, sorrow, tension melting away with each pulse of his cock, making a mess of his shields bronzed skin. 

It was bliss all around. Clarus felt his balls draw up before he realized it would happen. Watching Regis’ face contort in agony from the strength of his release had him doubled over to lowly groan into his lovers shoulder as he rode out his own pleasure. 

They laid back together, Regis comfortably rested between the much larger mans legs and breathing sharply as his skin jumped in over-sensitivity. Clarus carded his fingers through the long black hair. 

The duties of a king are strenuous. Clarus laid his trembling lips upon the crown of Lucis, the reminder of his life, his home, and his family while Regis breathed sharply with exertion. Regis would bow to none, and that was the only proof he needed of his ability to be his lovers shield. 

**Author's Note:**

> I haven't written anything like this in ten years or more.
> 
> Also the timeline is being disregarded here. It's there but it's somewhere off in left field.


End file.
